Eddie's Game
by The Chosen One
Summary: LAX FANFIC! A story inspired by real life events, Konnan, leader of TNA's most feared tag team The Latin American Xchange is scheduled for hip replacement surgery. But things go terribly wrong. Let the game begin...


**EDDIE'S GAME**

_DISCLAIMER: Of course, I can't take credit for the character of Konnan, as he's a real person! In terms of the story format, I've kinda gone for a mixture of kayfabe and non-kayfabe, so we'll see how it works out. Hope you enjoy – PLEEEEEASE leave feedback!_

The pain was gone.

Konnan had almost forgotten what it felt like. Living without pain. For so many years, the shattered remains of his hip had tormented him in every waking moment – at best a dull, throbbing ache, and at worst searing, blinding agony that crippled him, left him laid out on the floor – that it had become a grim fact of life to him. But that wasn't life. It was a shadow of a life. Now, he truly felt alive again. Now, when he stepped forward, or raised his arms, or even twisted to the side, it was not accompanied by a pang of protest from his hip that reverberated viciously throughout his body, but instead, he could move with the same ease and grace of his youth. Now, at last, he was free.

Konnan closed his eyes, and took a deep satisfied breath of the fresh air. He could almost taste its chill on the tip of his tongue. He savoured the breeze as it blew across his face, took satisfaction in the knowledge that for so long, he'd dreaded the wind. It seemed to cut through his hip like a knife, cause it to cramp up. Not anymore. He didn't quite understand why there was a breeze to begin with - after all, they were indoors. In the biggest arena Konnan had ever seen. Everything was so dazzingly bright, blinding light shining down from a ceiling far too high up for Konnan to see. The seats seemed to stretch right back for eternity, the rows going back as far as the eye could see, until they eventually faded into the shadow beyond…

_Rage, rage, against the dying of the light._

Who said that again? Was it Dylan Thomas, or TS Eliot, or Whitman? Konnan wasn't sure, he'd never really paid much attention in school. But for some reason that line had stuck in his brain, and something about this setting had brought it to the forefront of his mind. He was in the middle of a wrestling ring right now, doing something he never thought he'd ever be able to do again. Wrestling. Well, it wasn't really a match. They were just sparring.

And what about his sparring partner? As strong and healthy as Konnan felt, the man he was sparring with always seemed to be one step ahead. Konnan really shouldn't have been surprised – they'd known each other, and worked together for so many years. But every time Konnan looked across the ring at his sparring partner as they circled each other, he couldn't help but be filled with a fresh sense of amazement. He couldn't help but smile.

"You know, I never thought I'd see you again, Eddie."

Eddie Guerrero smiled back at Konnan, that sly, devilish grin that had been so familiar and beloved by wrestling fans across the world. There it was, that glint in his eye that Konnan remembered so fondly, that look that told you there was a whole lot going on inside Eddie's head, far more than he was willing to share.

"I've been around,_ esse_," Eddie replied cryptically.

Konnan stopped pacing the ring, and Eddie did the same. He put his hands on his hips, and looked around at the vast, abandoned arena.

"I know this is a dream, you know."

"Is it? Maybe your dead, and we're up here in the great big wrestling ring in the sky."

Konnan's smile faded. For the first time, he really felt the chill of that breeze, as if it had turned his blood to ice. Konnan did a slow rotation on the spot, taking in the sea of empty seats.

"You mean…this…this empty arena…"

"Hey, esse, it's not empty. Look closer."

Konnan gave Eddie a confused stare, but Eddie nodded his head to the right. Konnan hesitantly followed his gaze, looking right up into the dizzying heights of the top visible row of seating. He had to strain his eyes, but sure enough, just before the seats vanished into the darkness, Konnan spotted a single silent observer. He couldn't make out the details clearly, but he seemed to be a very old man, dressed in a suit. Beyond that, he was a blur. He turned back to Eddie, who crouched down, ready for a grapple.

"Shall we?"

Konnan nodded, and locked up with Eddie Guerrero. After a brief tussle, Eddie got the advantage, pulling Konnan down into a headlock. Eddie let out a chuckle, slapping Konnan in the back of his bald head.

"Hey, I was always smarter than you, holmes! While I have your ear…"

Eddie gave Konnan's ear a tug.

"…let me ask you a little question. Are you in?"

"In what?" asked Konnan, powering out of the headlock, and getting Eddie in a wristlock.

"The game."

Konnan paused, glaring at Eddie with confusion.

"The game? What kinda game?"

Eddie took advantage of Konnan being distracted, shifting the pressure and taking him to the mat with an arm-drag. Konnan nimbly sprung up to a kneeling position, looking up at Eddie in surprise. But Guerrero merely tapped his finger knowingly against the side of his head.

"Man, I'm talking about _the_ game! The one with the highest stakes of all!"

"What's at stake?"

"Everything."

Konnan hoisted himself up onto his feet, backing off to lean against the ropes, silently listening as Eddie explained.

"Look, this business we're in, it's a game. If we wanted long, healthy lives, we'd work in a department store, or become accountants. But we don't want that, do we _esse_? We want the bright lights, the cheering crowds. We want to be heroes, legends. And to earn that, we put everything on the line: our bodies, our minds, our souls. We live in a business that destroys our bodies, drowns us in politics, stabs us in the back, then dumps us like a bad habit when we're all used up, and we love every second of it. _That's_ the game! Just like playing Russian Roulette, or dealing drugs, or getting yourself into car-crashes to see what happens. Life on the edge, man, that's the game! The lengths we push ourselves to, it isn't natural. You know this. We're only human, holmes, we can only take so much? You know what they say about games where everything is at stake. If you play long enough, the house always wins in the end."

Konnan let out a nervous laugh, looking around the arena again. The old man was gone. Had he vanished, or…no, surely not. Surely it was just a trick of the eye, but…had the darkness spread down a few rows? No, no, he was just imagining it. He glared hard at the impenetrable shadow that the rows of seats faded into. It wasn't moving. Or if it was, it was moving far too slowly for him to notice.

"Hey, Eddie, listen man," Konnan stammered nervously, trying to hide his anxiety behind a cheery tone, "I don't really get what you're talking about here, so…"

"Owen Hart. Died aged 34. He fell to his death. The British Bulldog, Davey Boy Smith. Died aged 40. Heart attack. "Ravishing" Rick Rude. Died aged 40. Steroid overdose. Should I continue? Mr. Perfect, Curt Hennig. Died aged 44. Cocaine. The Big Bossman, Ray Traylor. Died aged 42. Heart attack. Bam Bam Bigelow, Scott Charles Bigelow. Died aged 46. Drug overdose. Mike Awesome, Michael Lee Alfonso. Died aged 42. Suicide. Do you see where I'm going with this, _hermano_?"

Konnan's mouth had dried up. He could barely find the words.

"Eddie…please…"

"Art Barr. Died aged 28. Cause of death unknown. He…ah…he was just sitting on the sofa, with his kid in his arms and he just…ah…died…"

Eddie's voice broke as he said this, wiping a stray tear from his face. Art Barr had been Eddie's closest, dearest friend at the time of his heart-breakingly premature death.

"Louis Mucciolo, Rad Radford, Madonna's Boyfriend, Louie Spicolli. Died aged 27. Overdosed on a cocktail of drugs and wine, and choked to death on his own vomit. Alone, with nobody left to help him, nobody to save him."

Along with him and Barr, Konnan and Eddie Guerrero had formed the notorious stable in Mexico known as Los Gringos Locos. And with a sinking feeling of dread in his stomach, Konnan knew who Eddie was going to bring up next.

"Eddie Guerrero. Died aged 38. Heart failure. Game over."

Eddie let out a bittersweet chuckle, shrugging at Konnan. As the two men stood there, one on each side of the ring, Konnan felt that gulf - that monstrous divide created by Eddie's passing – once again taking shape. No, he couldn't lose his best friend. Not again. Fighting back tears, Konnan took a few tentative steps towards Eddie, but…

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRGGH!"

Konnan collapsed onto the canvas, clutching his hip. It was back. No, not just back. Worse than ever. It was like a vicelike hand had burst through his body, clamped down on his hip, and now was crushing what little was left. He flailed, and slammed the mat wildly, but the burning agony only got worse and worse.

"AAAAAARGH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRGH!"

The whole arena seemed to be spinning around him. And yes, the darkness was spreading. Half the seats he'd previously been able to see in the arena were now engulfed in shadow. Through the pain, the one comfort Konnan felt was a hand on his shoulder. Eddie was kneeling over him.

"Eddie…"

"No, listen to me. I'm sick of it all. I'm sick of good men dying young. And people, they're…they're becoming numb to it. It seems like every other week, a hero of the past just becomes another name on an ever-growing list. It isn't right, Charlie. These people didn't have to die. I didn't have to die. I…I…I never kissed Vickie goodbye, you know. After all I'd done to turn my life around, I died alone, in a hotel room. All these men, our friends, they didn't deserve to die alone! Why? Why does it happen?"

Konnan could barely listen anymore. The pain was making him lose focus, he felt like he was going to pass out. But Eddie was right there in front of him, holding Konnan's head in his hands, trying to make him concentrate. There was desperation in Eddie's eyes, as if he wanted to say what he had to say before it was too late.

"It's the game! It catches up to all of us! And there's no miracle surgery that's going to stop it. We all made our choice. And once you choose to play…you're either in the game…or you're out."

Eddie stood up, letting Konnan slump back to the ground. Sobbing in pain, Konnan rolled round onto his stomach, trying to push himself up with his hands. The arena was almost totally dark now, save for the first few rows. And there he was, front row centre. The old man. And now that he was closer, Konnan could see his wrinkled, creviced face. He could see that his suit was tattered, stained with the dirt of the grave. And his eyes. Cold, blue, malicious. Those eyes stared right into Konnan's, cut through his very soul.

"Eddie, who….who is that guy?"

No answer.

"Eddie?"

With great effort, Konnan looked over his shoulder. The ring was empty. Eddie was gone. Konnan let out an inarticulate moan, but then he fell into a hushed, terrified silence. The darkness. It…it was moving. It was closing in on the ring, absorbing the ringposts into endless night. With a last, pathetic whimper, Konnan tried to crawl towards the middle of the ring. But within seconds, all light was gone, and the darkness was absolute.

…

"Mr. Ashenoff?"

Groaning, and muttering inarticulately, Konnan lurched back into consciousness. Light. Bright, blinding light that made his head hurt. As he slowly regained his bearings, he remembered where he was, and realised where he must be. In hospital. Recovery.

"I…is it over?"

Dr. Ramirez exchanged worried glances with the other surgeon standing by his bed.

"What's wrong? Did the surgery go wrong?"

"Mr. Ashenoff, we never went through with the surgery."

Konnan blinked with confusion.

"What?"

"When we…opened you up…to operate, we discovered…well, your kidneys are in a very bad condition."

Still groggy from the anaesthetic, Konnan wasn't sure if he was following this clearly. His kidneys?

"How bad?"

"Critical. I don't really know how else to say this, Mr. Ashenoff, so I'll just say it. If we hadn't discovered today that you are so dangerously close to total kidney failure, you would probably have died in a few weeks."

With those words, confusion gave way to blind panic.

"I'M DYING!?"

"No, Mr. Ashenoff, please…please calm down. Now that we've identified this problem, we can treat it. You are going to need a kidney transplant. That means more major surgery down the line, but not until we can find you a suitable donor. Until then, we'll be able to put you on dialysis. With this treatment, your life will no longer be in any immediate danger."

The sweat was already lashing off Konnan's head in pools. But he couldn't even muster up the energy to wipe it off. Hip surgery was one thing, but…kidney failure? This was major, life-threatening stuff.

"Well…what about my hip surgery?"

"We couldn't operate on you in your current condition. We need to put you on an intensive regime of dialysis, to clean out your body, and try and undo whatever damage we can. Only then will you be strong enough for surgery. I'm suggesting a week of intensive dialysis, then we can re-evaluate whether or not you're ready for this surgery. Until then, I'm having you transferred to another ward, where we can begin with the dialysis. I'm sorry, Mr. Ashenoff."

Konnan couldn't muster anything more than a vague nod. His head slumped back onto his pillow, and his eyes closed. How could this be happening to him? This was supposed to be a simple operation. In, out, and begin on the road to recovery. He'd never in a million years expected to be hit with this. Kidney failure? No, that was the kind of thing that happened to other people. Not him. Not _him_! He thought this surgery would end his troubles. But they were only just beginning. And now, that road to recovery seemed long, and twisted.

And behind him, that darkness was getting closer…

…

Right now, Konnan didn't even feel human anymore. It was the middle of the night, and lying there in that darkened ward, wires and tubes coming out of him, he felt like something out of a sci-fi movie. He was hooked up to one of these dialysis machines. This was supposed to clean out his body, and hopefully get him ready for surgery. And after years of worrying about it and putting it off, it seemed like this hip surgery was just going to be a little warm-up before he had to face the real deal. Kidney transplant surgery. The procedure was going to damn near bankrupt him, and that was only if they could find a suitable donor so he could have the surgery at all. Then there was the surgery itself. Even if it was a success, his body could reject the kidney, and it would all have been for nothing.

He really didn't want to go through all this alone. But he had to. He couldn't go to TNA Management with this. Those corrupt politicians? They were probably looking for an excuse to fire his ass. And besides, Konnan had far too much pride to go grovelling to those pieces of garbage for help of any kind.

And what about Homicide and Hernandez? How would they fare without him? They had Team 3D to deal with at Final Resolution. Konnan had been happy to let those fat pigs Brother Ray and Brother Devon think their little attack had incapacitated him, he'd played along with that if it meant he could have had his surgery away from prying eyes. But of course, things hadn't gone to plan, and now it seemed like Homicide and Hernandez would have to manage without him for longer than they'd all calculated. Not that it mattered. Team 3D were worthless, washed up, and when they collided with Homicide and Hernandez in the ring, Konnan knew The LAX would be the last team standing. They had to be. But they'd be doing it without him. How long would he be incapacitated? How many times would Homicide and Hernandez have to make their way to the ring, the titles round their waist, the flags of Mexico and Puerto Rico proudly on display, but with Konnan absent from their side? Instead of acting as the voice of The LAX - the one thing he was still any good at these days - he was stuck here, in a hospital bed.

Konnan had so much trouble lying ahead of him. He could face it later, face it one problem at a time. Now, all he wanted to do was sleep. And he couldn't even do that. All these tubes and wires. And then there was the constant beeping from the machinery, and the moans of pain coming from other patients in the ward. How many of them would be dead by the end of the week?

No, Konnan wouldn't be sleeping any time soon. Instead, he slowly drifted off into that twilight world, where dreams and waking life seem to merge and blur, and nightmares come to life. Muttering to himself in a delirium of pain, Konnan looked up across the ward. There he was, standing in a distant doorway. The old man, waiting patiently, _hungrily_. His head lolling back in the other direction, Konnan's eyes settled on the man sitting at the chair by his bedside. Eddie Guerrero.

Eddie offered him nothing more than a bittersweet smile. That crafty glint in his eye was replaced with a saddened resignation. As his old friend spoke, Konnan knew it was as the bearer of bad news.

"You're in the game now, _hermano_…whether you like it or not."


End file.
